


Leave in Silence

by orpikjam44



Series: I'll Make It Right [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Anger, Angst, Break Up, Choices, Comfort, Confusion, Crying, Hockey, M/M, Minor Violence, Phone Calls & Telephones, Rage, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orpikjam44/pseuds/orpikjam44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nazzy is having trouble handling everything on his own, no matter how much he thinks he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave in Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Song title from Depeche Mode. The irony.
> 
> POV switches but it's noted. I'm sorry. I don't like doing it either, but I do.
> 
> Also, Angstbert.

_CHAPTER FIVE_

The house is empty again, and somehow feels lonelier than it ever has before. Nazzy clears his throat just to hear a sound, to make sure his ears are still in working order. He’s really not sure any more what actually _is_ in working order.

He drops down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of the room. It didn’t smell like Bert, it smelled like Foppa. It smelled like his subtle cologne, his warm arms wrapped around Nazzy’s middle, his hair and the minty bite on his breath.

Nazzy presses his face into the pillows, pulling the sweet smell of his friend back like it will pull the smiling man back into his room and into his arms, tumbling on top of him onto the bed. It won’t, but the memories are almost as warm and comforting.

And then it’s sad. And lonely. It’s a reminder of something that isn’t there any more.

Is this how Bert feels? Is Bert feeling anything other than anger? He has no idea, he hasn’t tried to find out first-hand in the past... two weeks?

Brendan has been trying to convince him Bert is sad and trying his hardest to fix what he can, but to mend a relationship, two people are needed.

Foppa had been there for not even a whole day and the hours they’d spent together had melted away like minutes, and all too soon they were at the Airport, Nazzy’s fingers dug deep into Peter’s soft hair. Peter’s hand had been warm against his ribcage, his sweet, comforting words soft in his ears. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel Peter’s strong arms around his body, his warm lips against his own.

Peter had told him to be strong, to keep his head on straight and smile more. He’d told Nazzy that what had happened was scary, but to figure out how to move forward. He needed to.

But it is scary, and now Peter’s gone. Peter’s not there to hold him and whisper that _everything will be okay._ He rolls onto his back, staring up at his ceiling. He’d stared at that very same ceiling, laughing with Peter. But more often with Bert. With Bert next to him, stroking him, those powerful arms so carefully pulling him close like he’s a fragile kitten.

Life works in mysterious ways. It can never be easy.

The phone is next to his bed. There are two people he can call. Foppa has to be back home by now, ready to console him if needed. Bert should also be home...

He can’t call Bert now. No. Not after... Is he still scared, or is it guilt he’s feeling? Foppa had said he should talk to Bert, that Bert is probably scared, too.

_But so am I,_ Nazzy thinks, biting his lip. _I’m scared._

_== BERT'S POV ==_

The phone is ringing in the other room, and Bert is making a point of ignoring it. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message or call back. He’s had too many phonecalls, too many people trying to push into his private business.

They all say they care, but if they really did, wouldn’t they back off when he told them he needed space? They don’t _really_ care. They’re just nosey.

When the message machine doesn’t kick in, Bert’s happy he didn’t answer it. Some idiot trying to ‘console’ him, or someone asking about Nazzy. Why did they all ask _him_ about Nazzy? Why not just go to Nazzy on their own?

Bert’s eyebrow twitches and the phone starts ringing again. He curled his lip, wondering how many times he can put off picking it up before he finally gives in.

It stops ringing. Bert tilts his head towards the direction of the phone, waiting. There was a pause, then it started ringing again.

With a great sigh, Bert picks himself up off the bed where he was sprawled out and shuffles to the phone, grunting an incoherent, “Hello,” into the receiver.

_“Hi, Bert.”_

The phone nearly drops out of Bert’s hands when he hears the voice on the other line. “Nazzy, why are you calling me?!” He curses himself a second after the words vomit out of his mouth. He should be happy he’s hearing from Nazzy, right? Why is he angry? Towards who? Not Nazzy. He’s never been angry with Nazzy. Not once.

The sounds of Nazzy struggling to answer travel over the phone line and finally he says, “Bert, I’m sorry. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I needed to talk to you. I’m scared.”

It’s obvious he’s trying to keep his composure, so Bert takes a deep breath, calming his tone before speaking. “Naz. It’s okay. I’m sorry everything is so messed up. I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry we fought and that I’m big and dumb and hot-headed and...” He’s crying. Why the fuck is he crying. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy to hear your voice.”

“...Bert, I’m sorry. We need to break up. I can’t take this right now, and I need to clear everything up before we head into the playoffs. I’m... sorry, Bert.”

And at that point, Bert tears the phone cord out of the wall and sends the whole thing smashing through the window. He can’t even scream. He’s too angry. He wants to break something else. He wants to--

Brendan is grabbing at is arms, and it’s only then that Bert remembers his friend was staying the night. He’d started doing that over the last couple days to make sure Bert stays in good spirits and to keep him from doing stupid things like this.

But Brendan is significantly smaller than Bert and goes flying when Bert throws him towards the bed with a howl. “Don’t fucking touch me! No one fucking touch me!”

The room is spinning. His legs are giving out. His stomach is sick. Bert drops to his knees, sweating hands clutching at his hair, shoulders shaking. Tears pour down his cheeks onto the floor, making spattering sounds as they drop.

Brendan’s hands are on him again, but soothing this time. Still firm, ready to grab hold if Bert makes any sudden movements. His voice is soothing, too, warm and coaxing.

Brendan is a wonderful friend. He’s trying so hard. He wants to make everything okay. But how can everything be okay now? His job is over. There isn’t any more reason for him to be there. Everything is over.


End file.
